Chris Killian has been seen on Spike TV and has shared the stage with a plethora of talented comedians, including Greg Giraldo, Jon Reep, Steve-O from “Jackass,” and nearly every comic from Chelsea Lately. Armed with a guitar and a snarky wit Chris’ resentment and antagonism coalesce into a fast hitting hour of comedy. The Not Black Album is his first comedy album and is available at RooftopComedy.com on January 31.

Chris starts off simple enough, questioning certain practices of the roadway. Why do signs on the freeway warn citizens not to cut the median grass? What are the real redeeming qualities of the hated red light cameras? Then he dips his toes into sociopolitical issues. Particularly, food stamps. Killian talks about the faux pas one encounters when getting dressed up to go get food stamps. He recounts, “If you show up wearing anything nice—actually it doesn’t have to be nice it just has to be clean—everybody around you gets suspicious.”

From there Chris gets, shall we say, creatively crude. Apparently there is a practice in some foreign countries for women to sell their breast milk in order to make dairy products. Chris’ idea? Nipplepolitan ice cream.

Chris goes then goes on to comment about sperm banks. He recounts that when he went to go make a deposit at the local sperm bank he was turned away. The reason? His size. He says, “I guess I can add donating sperm to the list of things I’m not tall enough to do like joining the Air Force or turning off ceiling fans.”

His rant-driven comedy is quick and ruthless. He injects so much material into his monologues his stand-up becomes somewhat reminiscent of a young Daniel Tosh mixed with a rough cut of Christian Finnegan. Make no mistake though, he stands alone as himself. In fact he has eight musical numbers to follow his stand-up.

There can be many obstacles when comedians decide that they’re musically talented. One of the pitfalls of musical comedy is that one can’t rely too heavily on the repetition of refrains. Don’t rely too much on sound effects trying to simulate bowel movements. And, unless you’re Demetri Martin, don’t play music just to fill dead air. If you’re going to be a musical comedian, treat it like music as much as you can. Killian understands this better than most. According to his website he is a “Comedian. Songwriter. Not the other way around.” Songwriting is second but it’s a very close second.

The first track he launches into is “Butterface.” A ballad about the women in men’s lives who are better far off, particularly when their faces are blurry, pixilated, or underneath a brown paper bag. “The Country Singin’ Poser” is a song about a troubadour learned in the ways of country western music yet hates everything that country western music is about. Comedy fans—and perhaps clueless tweens—are sure to love the final track “Beiber Fever.” A profession of passion or a cry for help? I don’t know. Somewhere down the line this man probably lost a few screws. But if Killian’s comedy is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.

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